XXX's and OOO's
by RedWren21
Summary: Slight AU: In the aftermath of a brutal attack that leaves him physically and psychologically devastated, Red-X and Robin team up to find answers and fight against an insidious new adversary. Basically chronicles Red-X's eventual evolution into the Red Hood. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I decided to re-upload this story after nearly four months. Don't even know why I deleted it in the first place - other than to say I got too insecure. Whatever. Damn my insecurities! I had a couple people who really seemed to like it too, so I apologize for the abrupt deletion. And for y'all who have just stumbled upon it, please let me know what y'all think, and I hope you like it! :D

**Soundtrack: "**Learn The Hard Way" by Nickelback

_"He made his way across the alley toward his would-be foe, this arrogant, caustic kid that he had seen beaten and battered right in front of him: the kind of kid that he normally stepped in to save, a lamb making himself out to be a lion. . ."_

* * *

There was a definite sense of security in anonymity.

It seemed obvious to anyone with common sense; and to Red X, it was a literal matter of life and death. There have been too many times he was almost caught, too many close calls, too many nights spent curled up in a fetal ball of pain, popping Vicodin and Percocet pills like M&Ms. . .

Not too many nights when his identity was in danger of being exposed.

Unfortunately, tonight had been one of those nights.

Stealing from an armored car was, in theory, nothing out of the ordinary; for a seasoned crook like him, it was almost like a milk run.

In practice, however, it was a fool's errand ― a feat pretty damn near impossible. Especially considering that the armored car in question turned out to belong to Wayne Enterprises, and was manned by the meanest, most brutal lackeys in the GPD.

He ought to know; he himself had often been subjected to their draconian brand of justice.

And so it went: what should have been a typical heist turned into a beating the likes of which he had never taken before, rendering him unconscious in a matter of minutes. His senselessness was relatively brief, and he woke to find that one overly cocky officer was trying to pull off his mask.

_Oh, hell no!_

X pulled back and smashed his head against that of his would-be captor, who yelped like a dog being stepped on before sinking to the ground.

Having alerted the rest of the fuzz, X leaped to his feet, straining against the cuffs until they snapped.

Little pinpricks of pain shot up his arms, but he grit his teeth and pushed on. His chances of success were next to nil, and he was in no position to try putting up a fight at this point. With a dozen or more cops on his tail, he had to book it. Problem was, he didn't have the energy to outrun the bastards either. _Dammit, I think I'm screwed!_

It took a little time for X to remember that he had the full capability of teleportation.

By that point, he was surrounded and every feasible escape route was cut off. There was just one, simple stipulation to his teleportation technique: he had to be able to clearly visualize the place where he wanted to go. In his barely conscious state, his mind hazed, he could not even focus, couldn't picture any particular place to escape to. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye he noticed a fire escape set against a dilapidated old building. It wasn't ideal, but it was all he had.

_Okay, alright, that's where I need to go. I just gotta ―_

His line of thought was literally broken _―_ and probably his skull, too _― _as he felt something heavy and blunt crack him on the side of his head, the force so powerful that his head jerked to the side, almost giving him whiplash. X sank to his knees, stunned, unable to fully grasp what had just happened. For a few merciful seconds he was numb, and then he was seized by an agonizing, red hot pain as if he had been seared through with a fire poker.

Tinges of darkness hovered at the edges of his vision, enticing him with the promise of blissful oblivion. X could hear people talking above and around him, loudly and excitedly, almost shouting, but he could not make out what they were saying.

_It hurts. And I'm so tired . . . I just want to go to sleep._

_No, I can't do that. If I pass out again I'm done for. Hell, I can't go to jail ― I'd look _terrible _in orange._

In spite of the gravity of his situation he laughed, jarring his fractured ribs and descending into a fit of coughing; he turned his head to the side and spit up great gobs of saliva mixed with blood, and a couple of small white pebbles. _Wait._

When had he taken his mask off? Or better yet, _who_? He also couldn't understand why none of the cops around had tried to pull him up and cuff him again.

Or called a damn ambulance.

At that point he didn't care how much trouble he was in or who had seen his face. He just wanted someone or something to

"Make it stop . . ."

He moaned and rolled onto his side, pressing his cheek against the pavement; it was smooth and blessedly cool against his bruised skin.

It was then that he noticed that he was alone. Besides him there was not a single person left on the street.

_Weird._ _What in the name of –_

"Make_ what_ stop?"

That voice, he would know it anywhere. Deep, raspy — like a habitual chainsmoker.

"Y_―_ you."

"Me." The voice had taken on a mocking, sarcastic note, which X did not really appreciate.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped, slowly easing himself into a crouching position, leaning shakily on his hands and knees.

"Where did they go?"

"I had them called off. Let's just say I have friends in high places."

"Or low places. Where are you? I can't even see you."

"That's the idea. I'm close ― closer than you think. But don't worry; I'm not here to take you in."

"Oh, really?"

Red X groaned, lowering his head to the ground. He felt dizzy, but forced himself to swallow the wave of nausea in his throat. Vomiting in front of this guy, who was among the most powerful men in the world, would do nothing to further his standing in the man's estimation.

And the asshole already held him in pretty low esteem.

"Really."

X could have sworn that the man actually chuckled as he answered.

He lifted his head gingerly, eyeing the corner where the 'hero' was probably lurking.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time you let me off the hook. Why so lenient? I am a thief, after all."

"True. But there's more to it than that. You steal, but you're not a crook. Not really. You have made some very bad decisions, but you're still just a kid."

The 'kid' laughed, clutching his side with a free hand to minimize the pain in his ribs. "Gee, you're right. I should really try to be a better person! You gonna give me a lecture now?" Bitterness seeped with every word.

He tried to push himself up to stand, but his legs were shaky and he fell back down to his knees. He was sure that beneath the black spandex his skin was black and blue. He felt something hot and wet against one knee and idly wondered if the skin there had been scraped to the bone. It seemed likely.

"No," the chainsmoker voice said, "I'm not going to lecture you. I just came to make sure they hadn't killed you."

"So, you came to _save me_ then."

"Something like that."

"My hero! What the hell did you do with my mask?"

There was a long, awkward silence. Then, from out of the shadows, the ragged piece of black and white cloth was tossed at his feet.

"I don't recommend putting it on. Your nose is broken; I took it off so you wouldn't suffocate on your own blood."

X picked it up, turning it over so that the hollow eyes leered out at him. He snorted, crumpling the mask up in a ball.

"Thanks for that, but at this point I might as well already be dead."

"You don't mean that."

It was stated as a simple fact. The man was so sure of himself that it pissed him off.

"Don't tell me what I do or don't mean! I've had enough people in my life trying to tell me what I think, what I believe, what I have to do and what I can and can't do. I'm sick of it!"

He knew he sounded like an idiot, like a spoiled, stupid child, but he didn't care. He was long past the point of caring. He leaned forward again on his hands and knees, feeling the urge to puke again. He did not see how he would be able to hold it back this time.

He couldn't.

He heaved and moaned, coughing up a disgusting mass of blood and whatever food he had managed to swipe that day. _What was it again? Oh yeah: a couple Big Macs_. . .

So much for holding it together in front of The Great One. The sight of his own vomit made him gag, and he would've vomited again had he not crawled backward from it.

He scooted back until his back came to rest against the wall. He leaned his head back and stared up at the sky. It was one of those rare nights that a person could see the stars, despite the city lights. X looked at the clusters of stars and found Cassiopeia.

"Hey look up there. Can you see it? That group of stars that looks sort of like a W? That's Cassiopeia, my favorite." X spoke very slowly, his words beginning to slur together. "She was this smart, beautiful Queen, and for some reason she pissed off the Sea God. He tied her to a chair."

X felt something wet trickled from his hairline down to his jaw. Blood or sweat, he couldn't tell. His body ached all over. It was becoming increasingly hard for him to stay awake. It even hurt to breathe; he panted, taking in stuttering, discordant breaths. Death didn't seem like such a distant possibility anymore.

"Sorry . . . it's rude of me I know, but _―_" _Since when do you care what people think?_

"I don't . . . no, I don't!" _So why are you apologizing?_

"No. I'm not sorry, but I'm . . . so tired. . ."

He slumped against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut.

"_Please." _

His last words before he slipped into unconsciousness were a harsh whisper, a desperate plea:

"_Help me, please. . . You were right; I don't want to die."_

His heretofore unseen companion leaped off of the fire escape and out of the shadows.

He landed on his feet with a stealthy, almost feline grace. Not what you'd expect from a crimefighting heavyweight like him. He made his way across the alley toward his would-be foe, this arrogant, caustic kid that he had seen beaten and battered right in front of him: the kind of kid that he normally stepped in to save, a lamb making himself out to be a lion. _Well, not to say that he is a _weakling;_ just not a major threat. Not a _'villain.'

When he reached X, he knelt in front of him. He reached a hand forward, one black gloved finger tracing the bruises and gashes along the boy's forehead, many of which would require stitches. The worst laceration was on the left side of his head, a bloody trail leading from his temple down to his cheekbone, his black hair matted with blood.

The man removed his hand from X's head, holding his fingers under the boy's nose. A few faint puffs of air brushed against his fingers. Every breath hitched, respiration a severe struggle. He opened his mouth and coughed weakly, emitting a soft, alarming rattling sound. He was alive, just barely.

"Hold on kid, I'm calling for help. You're not going to die. I promise."

X's eyes abruptly opened, glazed and feverish, shaking his head fretfully in all directions.

The man placed a hand on either side of his head, holding him immobile. He looked directly into his eyes as he spoke. "Be still. If you jostle your head too much, you'll only make your injuries worse. I told you, I am going to call for help. You are not going to die."

X's eyes drifted closed, as abruptly as they had opened.

The stranger pushed a button on his belt, briefly hearing crackling static before the airwaves cleared.

"Are you alright? Do you need any help?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But I'm here with someone who's been _―_ please, just bring the car. It's bad."

"Should you not call for an ambulance instead, Sir?"

"No, I can't. The one who needs help is . . . a friend of Dick's. He can't afford to be in hospital and have people asking him questions. Please come as soon as you can."

"Right away, Sir."

The call disconnected, Bruce Wayne peeled off his cowl, his skin and scalp beginning to sweat. The cool night breeze was a godsend. He stood up, crossing his arms, leaning his head back against the opposite wall.

"You better make it through this, kid. It doesn't matter what you've done, or what anybody has told you. You didn't deserve this."

Red X's hand that had been clutching mask loosened its grip, his fingers splaying open.

A strong gust suddenly tore through the alleyway, the wind carrying the tattered cloth away.


	2. Chapter 2

__**Soundtrack:** "Can't Sleep" by Above & Beyond

_". . .Robin couldn't say that X was his friend. Still, he couldn't say that he was his enemy, either. So then, what was he?"_

* * *

For some reason, Robin couldn't sleep.

He generally followed the same routine every night before going to bed: snack, shave (if need be) and finally, sleep. He was usually able to fall asleep by 2 in the morning. For most people, five hours of sleep was not nearly enough; to The Boy Wonder, it was just that — a wonder.

The Titans were nowadays often obligated to answer distress calls in the early morning hours. As a result they were all chronically tired. Hypersomnia was a perpetual occurrence. Surprisingly, Beast Boy seemed to be the best adjusted. He cracked jokes frequently, trying to boost morale and ease tension.

'_Hey guys, know what's funny? We're an awful lot like those dudes that ride around in ambulances and stuff — y'know, the ones who're on call 24 hours a day? What are they called again? Pack of . . . pair of . . .'_

Robin for one was not in the mood for jokes — or what passed for a pitiful attempt at one.

'_It's _paramedic_, you idiot! You can't even say it right. Man, you're such a dumbass!'_

Okay yeah, he had to admit that he had been overly harsh —downright cruel, even— but sometimes the little green guy bugged the crap out of him!

After Beast Boy had angrily stormed off, Raven flashed Robin one of her signature creepy, blank stares. _'Nice going Chief,'_ she deadpanned, rolling her eyes (which was very unlike her and therefore very, very unnerving) at him in disgust. _'I can't think of a better way to demonstrate our dire situation: if we are all deprived of sleep much longer, we might all turn into super-douchebags like you.'_

'_Hey, wait a minute!'_

Robin sputtered and fumed, but Raven disappeared in the blink of an eye; she'd gone off to give Beast Boy a shoulder to cry on, most likely.

Robin blinked and shot up in his bed, shaking his head. He hoped that if he shook it hard enough, he could shake off all of his feelings of guilt. Sure, Beast Boy was immature; and abrasive, and annoying and —

"Okay, alright fine. I'll admit it: sometimes I can be a douchebag." _Or, more precisely, a _dick._ Pretty fitting that was his nickname . . . Bingo, that's it! That's why I can't sleep! I'm feeling guilty. Either that, or —_

Robin's inner monologue was abruptly interrupted by the most hideous, most asinine excuse for a song that has ever existed in the English language: _ It's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday! Everybody's looking forward to the weekend, week —_

"Gah!" Robin lunged toward his bureau, grabbing up his cell with one hand, covering an ear with the other. He punched the talk button, sparing his ears from further agony. "Okay man, you got me, I'm sorry!"

Silence on the other end.

"Look Gar, I said I was sorry, stop being such a —"

"Dick, it's me."

_Whoa._

"Um, Bruce? Holy ―"

"Save it, Dick. It's good to hear your voice again too, but unfortunately this isn't a social call. Now, pick your jaw up off the ground and listen to me."

Robin shut his mouth and snapped to attention. When Bruce Wayne used that tone, he listened.

His Pavlovian obedience training kicking in, he sat down on the edge of the bed in stupefied silence, as his mentor/father figure got right to the point of the phone call:

"Have you seen that thief with the skull mask lately?"

Well, that was kind of a random surprise.

"Um no, not for a while now; he's been off the grid here for months. Why?"

Another lengthy silence.

When it came to long, brooding pauses Bruce Wayne took the cake.

_Probably just 'cause he's got a lot on his mind: seems that way._

When he finally answered, Bruce's words were slow and deliberate:

"I just wanted to know how long it's been since you saw him last, so I can figure out how long he's been here. It could be weeks or even months, based on what you say . . ."

"So what you're saying . . ." Robin struggled to adopt his mentor's cool, clipped tone. "What you're saying is, Red X is in Gotham? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes," Bruce said bluntly. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. Dick, this is going to come as something of a shock ― not in a good way."

_Score! Two points for Mr. Obvious._

"Dick, I don't like wasting words, so listen up: He is here, and he's going to be staying with me for the time being."

When Robin didn't respond right away, he continued.

"He was in the process of a robbery, and I just happened to be around. He almost died; he is close to death as we speak."

Robin couldn't hide a surprised gasp. "Bruce, you didn't ―!"

"Of course not. You know me better than that, I hope."

Robin felt his face flush, and knew that his cheeks were probably as red as his costume. That was the thing he hated most, being made to feel ashamed of himself. And no one could do that better than The Dark Knight.

"I know. I know, I'm just a little surprised." _Understatement of the century._ "What happened to him?"

There was a long, heavy sigh before Bruce responded.

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. He was trying to steal from one of my armored cars. Well, what he _thought_ was one of my cars."

A pause and a cough.

"It was _him_. Somehow his goons managed to hijack it. I don't know if he bribed the police, or if he took them all out. Either way…"

Bruce suddenly sounded so tired, so old. So _defeated_.

"It's bad, Dick. It was terrible to watch. It happened so fast. He was ambushed; they beat him with clubs, stomped on him. They beat his legs first, deliberately avoiding his vitals. He never screamed, not once. He tried to put up a fight. By that point he was so badly wounded it was a miracle he could even move. I finally stepped in and took care of it; he had fainted again. Point is, this kid wasn't just attacked: he was lured there and trapped. It was obvious that they intended to kill him."

Robin closed his eyes, clenching a fist at his side. "Murder, you mean. They were trying to murder him."

He maintained a flat, even tone, but inside he was seething. _Wait, why am I so furious? It's not like I was _friends _with the guy! Then again . . . he did help me out, helped me save everyone from that Chang psycho. He risked his _life_ for them._

'_I thought you didn't play the hero.' 'Doesn't mean I don't know how.' _

No, Robin couldn't say that X was his friend. Still, he couldn't say that he was his enemy, either. So what was he?

"Dick, are you still there?"

"Y –yes, I'm still here. I'm just… having a hard time taking all this in." His voice wavered as he spoke:

"Bruce, what's going to happen to him?"

"I don't know, son. I don't know…"

Click.

All he could hear then was a loud, dissonant static. That, and the pounding of blood in his ears.

_Why can't I wake up? Why can't I… open my eyes?_

He could hear noises, voices. What were they saying? He strained his ears to listen, concentrating as hard as he could to make out what they were saying.

"Is there anything you can do for him, Leslie? Anything at all?"

"No Bruce. I wish there was, but there's nothing else I can do at this point. I've done the best I can, and I've given him as much morphine as the human body can handle. Even that might not be enough. He's still in shock. His body is expending all its energy just trying to keep his heart beating and his lungs working. If he survives this, it really will be a miracle."

…..

The voices gradually faded away.

He found himself as a little boy again, sitting in on a stool in the corner of Miss Turner's first-grade class. She knelt down in front of him, her eyes darkened with disappointment. Her voice is firm, but still soft and soothing as she chides him.

"I know you hate having to sit here, to be separated from all the others. All you have to do is say you're sorry what you've done."

What had he done? He was put in timeout almost every other day!

"Well? Are you going to apologize to Stephanie?"

Oh, that was it. He had swiped the little brat's milk while her back was turned. She'd even said she didn't want it! Funny how something so small warranted an hour sitting in the corner! One pouty lower lip, one bat of those baby blue eyes, and that girl could win over the Devil himself.

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"If I say I'm sorry can I finally get offa this damn stool?"

…..

He still hadn't apologized. But he found himself sitting outside the principal's office, idly biting his fingernails and yawning. He wished the principal would hurry up and call him in. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible: it was almost naptime. Then, almost as if he had read his mind, the principal called him in. He walked into the office as slowly as possible (_that'll show him for making me wait so long!_) and plopped down into the stiff leather chair. It was an ugly, pukish green color. Gross.

Kind of like the principal himself ― old and fat with doughy, pale skin, a cueball head and a puke-green suit.

Principal Puke-Green spent a long time staring at him, his watery black eyes leering at him over the horn shaped rims of his glasses.

"Well boy," (he grinned at him slyly, something green stuck in his teeth) "what do you have to say for yourself?"

_Why Granny, what big, disgusting teeth you have!_

The boy blinked owlishly, affecting the sweet, innocent stare that his mom called the _who, me?_ look.

"No Sir, I don't think so."

If his boyish charm worked well on his mother ― and on people in general ― it did nothing in this case. Seemed he'd lost his mojo.

Principal Puke-Green leaned across his desk, resting his chin on his fists.

"That's not quite true, is it?" He sounded so smug, so certain.

_What is it with this guy? What is it with all of 'em? They don't think I have any thoughts of my own!_

He took a deep, steady breath to calm himself.

"Actually, sir, it is true. You asked me if I have anything to say for myself ― and I don't."

_What do you _want _me to say? That I'm sorry? But I'm not; if I did say it, I would be lying!_

His grandmother had made sure he knew how bad lying was, how evil, from the time he was still in the cradle. _'Listen to Gran, sweet'un, and listen good: _Thou Shalt Not Lie! _God hates a liar more than anything.'_

The last thing he wanted to do was get on God's bad side; whatever Principal Puke-Green did to him would be nowhere near as bad as whatever punishment the Almighty Creator would dish out.

Not for lack of trying.

"Alright, since you still refuse to apologize, I have no other choice. Stand up and bend over."

"What? Maybe I heard you wrong . . ."

"Oh no, you heard right. Bend. Over."

For the first time, a pang of real fear came over him. Numbly, the boy slowly stood, the puke-green leather squeaking. He stood there stiffly, not really grasping what was about to happen. Wasn't it against the rules for a teacher ―especially the principal― to hit a student? He was pretty sure that he had heard Miss Turner say that at the first of his many parent-student-teacher conferences.

"N – no, I won't!"

"Fine, then, I'll just have to make you."

He lunged at him so suddenly that the boy almost fell backwards. No, not almost. He did.

The Puke-Green Monster grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing so hard that he thought the bones would snap. He then viciously yanked the small boy off the ground, flipping him over on his back, pinning him against the puke-green chair. Oh, how he hated that color!

He felt his shorts being yanked down and then ― oh God! It burned; it burned and it burned and it _hurt_. Why was he doing this, why?!

Was what he had done, what he had said, bad enough that he deserved this? Was he an evil person?

He couldn't handle it, he couldn't bear thinking those thoughts, he just wanted someone to come and save him, to

"MAKE IT STOOOOP!"


End file.
